Editor's Note: A nice longer chapter for the Thanksgiving weekend, enjoy! Yours Truly, -K.S.
Sparks flew from the ceiling, singing Dash Reinarr's golden uniform and scattering onto the deck plates. The primary lighting had failed, reduced to the dark, flashing, emergency red. The bridge was cast in an ominous maroon shadow, the flashes of blue and red light outside the viewport like lightning on a stormy night.
"Damage report, Captain!" A young bridge crew member shouted out, but the collapse of the ceiling onto his station cut him short.
"Chekov, fire forward torpedoes, full spread!"
"Aye, Keptin!"
Three orange flashes pierced the light show, striking several Cardassian warships to no avail. Damage done, but nowhere near enough. The explosions fizzled into nothingness, the Cardassians no worse for wear. The Archer, on the other hand, was barely holding together.
Massive chunks of her hull had been ripped free, and only one warp nacelle was still functioning. Shields had failed completely and impulse engines were barely functioning, leaving the ship limply falling to the left in a death spin. Communication had been cut off between sections of the ship, leaving the bridge crew on their own.
That is, what was left of the crew.
Consoles exploded, leaving fewer and fewer standing, and when the worst happened- either by errant debris or a direct hit -there was nobody left to take their place. Currently, Dash had slaved helm control to his chair, and his eyes didn't dare leave the viewscreen. He couldn't bear to see his friends lying in pools of their own blood.
Pavel Chekov, curly hair, pale skin, and youthful dedication an anomaly amongst the ranks of death and destruction, held onto his console by his fingertips, mounting the same desperate defense as the rest of the crew. If any of them survived, Dash was determined the young man would get a commendation.
The chances of that, however, were growing slim by the minute.
Dash pulled the Archer into an even tighter turn, increasing the speed of their death spiral, hoping to buy brief reprieve from the assault.
The entire ship rattled with disruptor impacts, showing just how futile his maneuver was.
"Mr. Chekov," Dash called out again, "Fire phaser banks one alpha and three beta, pattern Reed-Epsilon."
"Aye, Keptin, firing!"
They probably looked like a catherine wheel firework, firing from all sides as they spun out of control. It would be a flashy death if nothing else.
Dash Reinarr, mind laser focused on the fight, still couldn't fathom it.
Before the war fleet had engaged them, the Archer had stolen enough time to scan their ships. Comparing the data to what they did know about the Cardassians brought up several discrepancies. According to their analyzations, the Cardassians were somehow nearly a hundred years more advanced than they should be.
Their technology appeared to be some jumbled mess of their own, native, designs, and several stolen advancements. Primarily from the Nerada, the ship from the future that had invaded the Federation and destroyed Vulcan, but also from several advanced Starfleet ships- many of which had been designed and upgraded based on the technology from the Nerada as well. It was impossible, but all the pieces lined up.
The Cardassians had, through subterfuge, theft, and otherwise, managed to get their hands on the Nerada's advanced technology and reversed it for their own means. Then, using the Federation's own massive armament campaign, had stolen even more designs and advanced tech, furthering their own military prowess in one fell swoop.
The Archer stood as much chance as the Bajorans did against firepower of this magnitude.
But there was nothing for it now but to continue fighting to the bitter end, hoping in vain that someone, anyone, would come to their rescue.
The Enterprise rocketed into realspace again.
"Captain," Spock said from his station, "Multiple enemy cruisers in range."
"On screen!"
The viewscreen warbled to life, magnifying the image until it focused on the battle unfolding in the middle distance.
Five tan-hulled, ankh-shaped battle cruisers were harassing the helpless Archer, their orange disruptor beams cutting the ship apart piece by piece. The Archer fired back when it could, but the damage was minimal, often missing the warships by wide margins. The death throws of a fallen ship, fighting to its last breath.
"Red alert, shields up," Kirk said upon analyzing the scene, "Mr. Sulu, get us in between those Cardassians and the Archer."
"Aye, sir," Sulu responded, taking dual control of both helm and weapons from his station.
"Spock, the Archer said there was a war fleet. Can sensors pick it up?"
Spock leaned down to focus in on the readout, adjusting as needed. When satisfied, he looked back to Kirk, "Affirmative, however it is more accurate to describe it as an armada. They are on the far side of the planet, bombarding the surface. I believe our appearance will be sufficient enough to draw several of them away."
"Perfect," Kirk turned his chair to communications, "Uhura, send a general distress call to any starbases within range. Tell them we've engaged an enemy armada and need immediate assistance."
"Understood, sir," Uhura said as she immediately set to work.
Kirk thumbed the communicator on his chair, "Kirk to sickbay. Bones, get ready for casualties."
"Lovely, just send them in one piece this time," Doctor Leonard 'Bones' McCoy grumbled in response.
Kirk turned his attention back to the battle, watching the tactical readout on his chair as they approached. Excitement brimmed on his senses. That terrible adrenaline rush that came with a fight, the cocky confidence that would carry him on to the next sunrise no matter how many bloody noses or broken bones he endured.
"Target the lead cruiser with our first phaser barrage. Next, send two photon torpedoes into the ones furthest from the Archer. I want to make it perfectly clear they need to back off."
"Aye, sir," Sulu responded.
The Enterprise crew, perhaps more than any other in the fleet, worked as a well-oiled machine. Whatever their personal feelings or misgivings, when it came time they were all business. Questions evaporated into afterthoughts, doubts were shelved, and the here-and-now became all that was important. The Enterprise crew was a veteran team, and they trusted each other implicitly.
"Spock, give me an estimate. How long do we have until the rest of that armada gets over to us?"
Spock paused to think it over for a moment.
"Five point two minutes if they engage warp factor one. At best, we have seven minutes total before they are able to assist their allies," The Vulcan said simply.
"Thanks. Get me your best scans on them, I want to know what we're up against before I drop shields for the Archer."
Spock turned back to his station immediately.
Kirk had a few options here. He could envelope the Archer in the Enterprise's shield bubble, but recalibrating to extend it that far would cost them precious time. Alternatively, they could beam the crew aboard, but, again, that would require them to drop shields for potentially too long. Finally, he could take the fight to the Cardassians and force them back- giving the Archer enough time to limp away.
If they wanted to play hardball, Kirk was more than fine with that. It made his decision all the easier.
"Alright boys and girls," Kirk leaned back in his chair, the relaxed and cavalier commander taking the place of his all-business attitude, "Let's get busy. The Enterprise is one of the strongest ships in the fleet, and we need to prove that today by buying the Archer enough time to escape. If we can stay between the two and do enough damage, we can send the Cardassians packing with a bloody nose and let the diplomats handle this one tomorrow."
The Enterprise swooped in, weapons firing, and the Cardassian cruisers responded immediately. They slowly began to back off, returning fire the entire time. But they weren't retreating, not by a long shot. Instead, as Enterprise wedged itself between them and the Archer, they merely pulled back and resumed their circular formation, hoping to overwhelm the bigger ship with attacks from all sides.
It mattered little against a ship of Enterprise's caliber though. The first of the Constitution-II class, it had constantly remained on the forefront of cutting-edge technology in all areas. With Montgomery Scott's modifications and constant tinkering, it even outclassed newer designs. Each time it was called upon, the Enterprise proved why it remained the flagship of Starfleet.
Even if the past few years had been focused on turning back the clock and focusing on science and exploration, Enterprise, and its sister ships of the Constitution-II class, remained the premiere mixture of science and defense. It might not be capable enough to handle an armada on its own, but it would put up a good enough fight to force any enemy to think twice about how many ships they were willing to lose.
That intention was proved true as two of the Cardassian cruisers crumpled under the intensified fire from the Enterprise. Their shields evaporated and, soon, massive phaser blasts ripped their ships apart, turning them from war machines to small explosions of debris in a matter of minutes. The other three gave the Enterprise a wider berth, deviating from their formation in order to avoid sharing the same fate.
The Archer, meanwhile, did its best to correct its course out of the death spin, eventually righting itself on a course back towards Federation space. It was well and truly out of the fight, with its phaser banks exhausted or destroyed, photon torpedoes gone, and the shield generator overloaded into a slag of scrap. The Archer barely had enough power to maintain structural integrity.
Unfortunately, the detachment from the armada arrived. Twenty-seven ships came in to reinforce the three, and they began hammering away at the Enterprise. In order to keep protecting the Archer, the Enterprise was severely limited in its maneuvers, and remained relatively stationary between the two forces, relying heavily on its shields and sheer size to protect itself.
Another three ships destroyed and five more disabled thanks to the experienced hand of Hikaru Sulu, but it was clear that Enterprise was fighting an unwinnable battle. Even if they, by some miracle, repelled this force, more and more of the armada near the planet would keep coming; an onslaught from the endless horde until they were destroyed.
"Scotty," Kirk shouted as a torpedo exploded off their bow, sending intense rumblings throughout the saucer section, "Pull whatever power you can to the shields."
"I cannae deny the laws of energy, Captain!" The Scottish engineer responded from engineering, "We're burning our reserves at this rate. I've givin' ye all she's got!"
Kirk bit his finger, lost in thought for a moment as his mind raced for a way out of this. Scotty was a miracle worker, but they'd need something bigger than that.
"Spock?" Kirk said, his gaze never leaving the viewscreen, "How far away has the Archer managed to get?"
"Not far enough, Captain," Spock responded, "At this rate they will clear the system in the next six hours."
Kirk slammed his fist down on the arm of the chair, "Damn! Alright, fire a full spread of torpedoes right at their front line. I don't care if we hit anything, but we need to buy ourselves some breathing room."
"Sir, we only have twenty torpedoes left. A full spread will leave us with very little," Sulu warned, even as his hands flew across his console to send the orders.
"I am aware of that, Mr. Sulu," Kirk responded through gritted teeth, more explosions rocking the ship, "But we don't have much choice. The phaser banks are close to burning out, even a few moments to cool them off will help."
"Understood," Sulu punched in the order and sent the full spread, six torpedoes in all, at the Cardassians.
Four scored home for minimal damage, two sailed off harmlessly into space, barely grazing ship bows as they passed. It did little to stall the Cardassian attack, which seemed to intensify in power.
"Captain?" Spock queried, "What are your orders?"
James Kirk wanted to answer, but he was suddenly unavailable- his mind and soul stolen away from the present moment by an unseen hand.
James T. Kirk was no longer on the bridge of the Enterprise, plunging headlong into hell.
The white space seemed covered in a mist, a fog, and yet was so brightly lit that it was nearly blinding, and it took his eyes a few moments to adjust.
Or did it?
Now, he was back in Iowa, on Earth, on a farm he recognized but could not place. The sun was high above his head, but clouds obscured it. Just past the farm's fence, however, the white nothingness spread for eternity. Strange.
Back to the empty white, or did he start at the farm and just now appeared here?
His uniform had been replaced by a ranch hand's attire, with riding boots and all. So, surely, he'd come from the farm first.
No, now he was on the bridge of the Enterprise, but nobody else was here. He could see straight ahead, but it seemed like each time he turned he gained a new level of vertigo. The universe was spinning around him, but he remained stationary.
A crumbling temple, the skies bleeding red, a prairie burning in the distance.
The Nerada's captivatingly horrific interior, he was a young man again, and so, so desperately alone.
His dorm room in the Academy, back on Earth. His uniform returned to him.
But, no, before a breath he was back in the empty white eternity.
Or, wait, was he always in the blindingly bright white room? Was this a room or a different plane of existence? Why did it seem like things kept spinning, how could he even tell without reference for up or down here? Was he floating or standing?
Standing, definitely. Weight was beneath his feet, something to ground himself with.
Fascinating.
The word was spoken unbidden to his mind- but it wasn't his voice. Was it?
Who was he again?
James Tiberius Kirk.
Yes, correct.
Captain of the starship Enterprise.
Correct.
Diplomat.
Incorrect.
Soldier.
Incorrect.
Hero.
Incorrect.
Human.
Correct.
Back and forth between two sides of his mind, a guessing game that took a million years to unfold and yet resolved itself within seconds. Building James Kirk back piece by piece, but that was impossible- he knew who he was. So, the question was, who wanted to know?
"Emissary."
The first spoken words, colliding with the silence in a deafening chorus of voices. Ten different languages, five dialects, twelve accents.
Kirk looked up from… Was he seeing for the first time? He hadn't seen the environments, he hadn't seen anything, not even the empty white eternity. He had been on the bridge of the Enterprise, plunging headlong into hell, and now…
Kirk saw a person standing before him, Commander Spock.
"Emissary."
"Spock?"
"The Emissary communicates."
A different voice, and Kirk found himself turning to face Captain Christopher Pike- a ghost come to life.
He now stood on the old Enterprise's bridge.
"What emissary? What are you talking about?" Kirk asked.
Back on the farm.
"The Emissary is confused," A figment of Uhura said.
"It is natural," Pike said.
"The Emissary does not understand, he queries and is queried," Spock said.
Each one passed before him, walking slowly, but somehow shifting in and out of focus- in and out of time. They glided past his vision without him truly seeing them, but he could focus on them when they spoke. Were they even multiple people- or the same person?
"We are not singular," One of them said.
Kirk felt himself turning again, trying to focus. He was back in the Nerada.
"The Emissary is linear, curious," Spock said.
"The Emissary is wrong," Pike said, almost angry.
"He is not the Emissary," Uhura said, her voice certain of the fact.
Kirk shook his head, trying to understand just what was going on. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the emptiness, but the transition was getting easier, not as jarring.
"My name is James Kirk of the United Federation of Planets," Kirk said, looking to the three assembled visages of people he knew.
They weren't real, and if they were… The people who they resembled would never act like this.
"You are not the Emissary, and yet you are here," Uhura continued, as if he never spoke, "He is the not the one."
"But he is the one we have."
"But not the one we need."
"Too early. Something is wrong."
The phantoms conversed, but they weren't speaking to each other. They spoke at Kirk, at each other, but not with either.
"This universe has been changed," One said, bringing silence from the others, "The Emissary will arrive… Too late."
"What emissary?" Kirk asked, aggravated beyond annoyance. He remembered now, everything, and he didn't have time to waste on this. The Enterprise was in danger, and if he wasn't there the ship might already be destroyed.
"Enterprise is safe,"
"Enterprise is destroyed,"
"These events transpire with or without you not, always in motion and yet never happening," Pike said to him.
These phantoms started sounding more and more like riddles, and Kirk didn't need to stay here. He turned to leave, only to find himself facing the Spock phantom.
"You are not what we need."
"I can see that, so if you don't mind, I'll be on my way," Kirk tried to push past the phantom, but his hand phased through it, and he stumbled back onto the empty Enterprise bridge, nearly falling over.
Maybe he did fall, but he was standing straight up again, as if nothing had happened.
"The Kirk is linear. He cannot comprehend," Uhura's voice spoke from somewhere in the distance.
"The Kirk is not the Emissary," Spock said over his shoulder.
"But this Kirk is what exists," Pike said amicably, standing in front of Kirk with his hands clasped behind his back.
"He will fail," Uhura warned.
"He will try." Spock cautioned.
"The Kirk will be our Emissary, for the Sisko does not exist here," Pike said, his tone suggesting this would be the final word on the matter, "The Sisko of elseworld will be the Emissary. The Kirk of Bajor will be the Emissary. It was not meant, but it will be."
A smile, meant to be comforting, but one that seemed unnatural on the visage of Pike. It faded as quickly as it came, or maybe it was never there? Did Kirk imagine that?
Wait, he was back in the emptiness. No, he never left.
"What are you?" Kirk demanded.
"We are Bajor, as is the Kirk. The Kirk is Bajor, the Kirk is the Emissary, and the Kirk is of Bajor. The Kirk is of us, and we are of Bajor."
"What?" Kirk asked, unfathomably mired in confusion and disbelief.
The question was left unanswered.